


The Professor

by Beeblebrox-For-President (unfortunately7)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clothed Sex, College AU, Creampie, F/M, Grades, Office Sex, Professor Laufeyson, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unprotected Sex, dub-con, marvel AU, professor!loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunately7/pseuds/Beeblebrox-For-President
Summary: You had thought it would be easy. You had been the top of your high school class, but now… now you were nobody. They hadn’t been kidding when they had told you it was a tough school. And yet you, with your valedictorian’s sash and your scholarship money and your abundant confidence, had picked this school anyway.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 180





	The Professor

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, ya'll. I've been thirstin' for this boy, and a couple nights ago this idea wormed its way into my head as I was trying to fall asleep.

You bit your lip hard, holding back the sob that was building rapidly in your chest. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you struggled to keep them from spilling, wiping the backs of your hands over your eyes repeatedly as you walked along the campus sidewalk. 

Your dorm was close, you could break down when you got there. But now? Right now you had to focus on not making a fool of yourself. You already felt bad enough.

Failing all your classes. You couldn’t understand it. No matter what you did, how hard you tried, the material was always just out of your grasp. The clock was ticking down, the semester drawing to a close. Even if a miracle happened, you wouldn’t have the grades to get the scholarship you needed to finish out your degree.

You had thought it would be easy. You had been the top of your high school class, but now… now you were nobody. They hadn’t been kidding when they had told you it was a tough school. And yet you, with your valedictorian’s sash and your scholarship money and your abundant confidence, had picked this school anyway.

Your parents had hated it. Called you stupid. Told you not to go all the way to Norway for college. They hadn’t even wanted you to go out of state, let alone out of country. You- foolish, foolish you- had told them it’d be fine.

They told you, specifically, that if you lost your scholarship, they would absolutely not help you out financially. Wouldn’t even get you a flight home and enrolled in a community college. No, in fact, they had told you not to come home at all.

Some parents, huh?

Now you were trapped with failing grades, pissed off parents, and a distinct lack of funding. Screwed. Utterly and completely screwed.

You burst into your dorm room just as the tears began to fall. You slammed the door shut, earning and angry shout from someone across the hall, letting loose the torrent of sobs you had been holding back.

Failing. You almost couldn’t believe it. Was it the curriculum? Being so far from home? It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried, no, you had tried your hardest.

But your hardest hadn’t worked, and now you had to pick up the pieces.

There was no way- absolutely none, you’d done the calculations- to bring your grades up enough, even with aced finals, to retain your scholarship. You sat back on your bed and stared at the opposite wall. Your calendar seemed to stare back at you with cold, unforgiving deadlines. Deadlines you had missed.

You breathed deeply, steeled your nerves, mind settling. You would have to drop out at the end of the semester. Scrape up enough money to fly back home. Hope your parents would at least let you stay there while you searched for a job.

You burst into tears once more. You were totally, completely screwed.

The lecture droned on. You’d given up already, electing to not even pay attention to the lesson. There was no point to it, so why bother? The class was boring anyway. The professor, however, not so much. In fact, though you would never admit it aloud, he was the only reason you had bothered coming to class.

His accent was hard to place, but the timbre of his voice made your spine tingle and your toes curl. His lithe frame was always covered in a coat as well as his usual dapper suit, as though he was always cold, but you were sure there was plenty of muscle beneath. The way he moved said enough.

His features were sharp, his cheekbones and the regal slope of his nose defined exquisitely even in the lighting of the lecture hall. His hair, today, was slicked back, tucked behind his ears. Inky curls cascaded over his shoulders. His eyes were bright, glorious blue, and were-

Focused on you. Shit. You averted your gaze quickly, looking down at the blank notebook page in front of you and pretending you hadn’t just been ogling the teacher. Nope, you? Never. You’d never ever think about sucking a professor’s c-

“Ms. ________? You look flushed. Do you need to be excused?”

You jerked your head back up, cheeks blazing. You shook your head, stuttering. “N-no! I mean, no. I’m fine.”

Prof. Laufeyson raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure?” Something about the mischievous glint in his eye made you feel like he knew exactly what was wrong at the moment.

You nodded. “Yes, Professor. I’m fine.” You swallowed thickly. The other students glanced at you, wanting to see for themselves if you looked to be ailing. Prof. Laufeyson nodded.

“Alright then, back to the lesson.” He turned back to the image projected on the board and began to speak once more. You fought the urge to slam your head against the desk, if only to be temporarily put out of your mortified misery.

You spent the rest of the class doodling in your notebook, deciding to at least try to look like you were doing something productive. Earlier in the year, you would’ve been glued to the lesson, trying to write down every word that fell from Prof. Laufeyson’s lips. Now you were merely content to listen to his voice.

Of course, paying little attention has its downfalls. These include, but are not limited to:

1\. Not hearing the class be dismissed.

2\. Continuing to sit at your desk, doodling away in your notebook.

3\. The teacher, wondering why you are still sitting there, walks up to you.

All of these happened in what you later guessed to be roughly a minute, at which point you were only alerted to the professor’s presence behind you by his voice you had learned all too well.

“Those don’t exactly look like notes, Ms. ________.”

You yelped loudly, falling sideways out of your seat. Firm hands caught you quickly, one clasping your wait and the other gripping your upper arm. You looked up, blinking rapidly. Professor Laufeyson looked back at you, appearing rather amused. You swallowed thickly, grasping at words.

“I had a feeling you weren’t paying attention very well. It shows in your grades.” You flushed at his words, pushing yourself back up into an upright position. You began to gather your things, terribly embarrassed.

Prof. Laufeyson continued speaking. “Of course, you aren’t cut out for this, so it’s understandable that your attention has wained.”

You froze, arm half in your bag as you shoved your notebook into your backpack. Your eyes narrowed and you felt a flicker of rage light in your chest. You turned and faced the Professor, arms crossed, a scowl plastering your face.

“And just what do you mean by that?” you snapped. He tilted his chin, looking down at you, and opened his mouth to speak. You held up your finger, cutting him off. “No, not a word. I’m leaving after this semester, I’m done giving a fuck.” Your eyes were blazing with anger.

“Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get here? Do you have any idea how many notes I took, how many hours I spent without sleep studying for these stupid goddamned tests?” You were raging, and had no intention of stopping. “I worked my ass off, and yeah, it wasn’t enough. I’m fucking done with this shit.”

You spun around, clamping your mouth shut before you went any further and dug yourself into a deeper hole. You were never coming back to this class again, despite the eye-candy teacher. You slung your backpack over your shoulder and began to march away. 

A hand latched onto your shoulder, pulling you to an abrupt halt. You whipped around, glaring daggers at Laufeyson. The anger melted away quickly, replaced by fear.

His jaw was set and his eyes steely as he looked at you. He kept ahold of you with one hand, moving it down to your upper arm. The other hand easily sent your backpack falling off your shoulder. He spoke, pointed eye-contact making you squirm where you stood.

“I don’t like your tone, young lady.” His voice was deep, dangerous. He stepped forward, grasping your chin with his long, elegant fingers. Fingers you had thought about so many times doing wicked things to you.

“In fact,” he continued, “I find it quite rude. Apologize.”

You opened your mouth to give an indignant remark, but he caught on before the words could pass your lips. He squeezed your jaw, just briefly, but it was enough to show you he was in control. “Apologize,” he stated again.

You swallowed visibly. “I-I’m sorry.” You tried to keep your voice from wavering and revealing how intimidated you were. You wanted to get away, out of this room, away from this college as fast as you could, but his icy stare locked you in place.

“I forgive you. It will not happen again. You are not allowed to speak to me that way, understood?” 

You nodded simply in response. Damn right it wouldn’t happen again, you were going to get as far from here as possible.

“Good.” His tone became lighter once more, but he didn’t let go of you. The hand that had grasped your chin trailed down your neck, raising goosebumps over your skin. “Now, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, you aren’t cut out for this.” 

Slowly, he backed you up against the desk until you were halfway seated upon it. Your heart pounded in your chest as his knee slotted between your thighs, spreading them apart.

“You see, I knew it from the moment you walked into the lecture hall. I knew you wouldn’t make it through the class, and I saw the way you looked at me between your bouts of frantic note-taking.” His hand trailed down further, lithe fingers nudging apart the buttons of your blouse. You sat froze in the spot, utterly disbelieving of what was happening.

“Academia is not where you belong, my dear,” he said, voice a sinful purr as he leaned in closer to you. His warm breath washed over your chilled skin as his hand finished unbuttoning your shirt. He flicked the two side apart before allowing his gaze to settle on your heaving chest. He licked his lips.

“No, you belong beneath someone. Writhing in pleasure in bed with someone who can keep your mind occupied while also taming your body.” He tenderly caressed your clothed breasts before reaching behind you and unclasping your bra. It slid down your arms, stopping at your bent elbows.

“You belong, as I believe is the common saying, barefoot and pregnant, in the kitchen tending to dinner on the stove. You belong in a nice house, waiting each day for your husband to come home to sate you.” You shuddered as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers, mouth gaping. “And I intend to make that happen, dear.”

His hand traveled to the button of your jeans. Just as he reached it, you snapped back into sense. You screamed, rearing up and twisting out of his grip. You fell over to the other side of the desk, scrambling to your feet and dashing towards the door. The fluorescent lights watched you like cold, unfeeling eyes.

You reached for the doorknob, turning it and yanking the door open. The hallway was empty as you darted out the door, your heart pounding painfully. You sprinted down the hall, shouting for help. Nobody answered.

There was an emergency exit at the end of the hallway, its red sign growing brightly like a beacon of hope. You were practically flying, your shoes barely hitting the ground as you sprinted towards the door. Your shirt gaped and your breasts hung free, but you didn’t care. All that matter was escapin-

A hand slammed over your mouth and an arm wrapped around your torso, pining your arms to your chest. Your neck jerked and you screamed louder, but the sound was muffled. You were dragged backwards into one of the private offices of the senior professors. You stumbled forward onto the large oak desk as the arm released you. The door slammed shut, lock clicking.

You burst into tears, laying over the polished wood of the desk. Random office supplies lay beneath you, jabbing into your soft skin. Professor Laufeyson’s heavy footsteps approached you. He twined his fingers through your hair, yanking your head back and turning you to face him. He was frowning.

“That is not acceptable behavior,” he stated, clearly quite angry. He kept his composure as he pressed your head back to the desk, turned just enough so you could see him out of the corner of your eye. You whimpered as he released your hair, drawing his hand back.

He ran one hand through his hair, thinking. He took in a deep breath and then sighed loudly. He looked back down at you as you cautiously drew yourself into a sitting position, arms clutching yourself and covering your bared chest.

He seemed calmer now, back in control of himself. That flash of anger you’d seen in his eyes was burned into your mind, the strength of his arm as he shoved you against the desk. You shivered.

“You are not to behave that way. I want what is best for you, and I believe some small part of you knows that,” he stated, locking you in his gaze. “If not, you certainly will someday. Now, stand up.”

The tone of his voice left no room for negotiation. You stood, trembling like a newborn fawn as you stared at him with doe-eyes. He nodded to your arms. Slowly, ashamed, you dropped them, exposing yourself once more.

“Good girl,” he purred, clearly pleased. “Now, remove your jeans.”

You balked at this demand. You knew what was happening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Without a doubt, no matter what action you chose the outcome would be the same. You swallowed hard, feeling as though there were sharp stones imbedded in your throat, and undid the button of your jeans. The zipper came next.

Finally, you were bare before him save for your panties and the blouse around your shoulders. With a shudder, you realized your panties were soaked. The heat rushing through your body was not just from fear, your arousal was the main component. Of course, you thought with shame, of course you would be enticed by this. You and your filthy fantasies.

Laufeyson’s tongue flickered over his lips as his eyes roamed your body unabashedly. There was a notably sized bulge in his pants. He rubbed himself through his trousers. “Your undershorts, dear,” he said, a grunt tinging his voice. You bit your lip, sniffling as you pushed your panties down your legs. The evidence of your unfortunate arousal was smeared over them. Laufeyson smirked.

“Perfect, dear. Thank you for listening so nicely.” His voice was like satin, laced with a deep and dangerous growl. “If you would please turn around and place your hands on the desk, I will allow you a reward for your good behavior.”

You turned slowly, movements jerky as your body and mind battled. Why not let it happen? It’s not like you hadn’t fantasized about just this. A wicked greed burned in your belly as your hands met the wood. You hung your head, giving in to your base instincts.

Laufeyson’s hands met your ass, tenderly kneading your plump flesh with a satisfied groan. His nails dug into your skin just slightly as he spread you open, gazing at your puckered hole and your slickened folds. His fingertip circled your asshole, making you flinch, then trailed down to your sopping cunt. Without warning, he plunged two fingers into you, scissoring you open as you whimpered. His thumb pressed against your clit, making sparks work their way up your spine.

“So wet for me already? What a good girl,” he purred, adding a second skilled finger as he hand-fucked you. “You’ve been wanting this since the beginning of the semester, I’d wager. I saw the way your hand would slip beneath the desk during open discussion time when notes weren’t necessary. I watched as you bit your lip, muffling those sinful sounds that threatened to spill from your lips. Norns, it was addicting.” He drew his hand away.

You heard the rustle of rough fabric behind you before Professor Laufeyson’s heated length rubbed over your rump and down to your cunt. His weeping tip dragged against your folds, smears of his pre-cum mixing with your slick. Slowly, he forced himself into you, stretching you to fit his girth.

His hand settled on your hips as he fought not to spill into you as soon as he reached the hilt. He bit his lip, groaning. The sound made you trembled, need growing in your belly as you adjusted to being so full. Ignoring your reservations and what was left of your sense, you rocked your hips back against him, encouraging him to move. He obliged gladly.

The sounds of wet flesh sliding together and dry skin smacking filled the small office room. each of his thrusts jolted you, sending your hipbones bumping against the dest as you practically sprawled over the wood, hands scrabbling for purchase on the hard surface. The pull-chain on Prof. Laufeyson’s desk-lamp waved back and forth mesmerizingly as the desk rocked. The wood gave small creaks of protest, but you were far past protesting.

You panted, sweat trickling down your brow as you rocked back into your professor’s rough rutting. Every now and then, a moan escaped your parted lips, your pleasure betraying you. Earlier, you had run, but now you were all too malleable in Laufeyson’s hands, eager to give in. After all, you were leaving soon. Why not let yourself get a bit of enjoyment before you had to face the harsh reality before you.

Professor Laufeyson’s grunts turned into unfiltered moaned curses. A glance back at him revealed a scene you wouldn’t soon forget. His eyebrows were drawn tight, his head tilted back as his chest heaved. Perspiration dotted his brow and neck, his hair hanging down in damp tendrils. He looked as though he had reached heaven, or as he had called the Nordic equivalent in his lectures, Valhalla.

Soon his thrust turned into deep, rough grindings against your used cunt. His rutted himself against you, practically humping you against the desk. His grip on your hips tightened, his nails digging into your flesh, sure to leave crescent-shaped marks behind. The coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter as your nerves curled within themselves, sending white hot shivers through your body. You cried out as one of his hands released your hip and worked its way to your cunt, rubbing your engorged clit rapidly in a way that nearly was too much to handle. You came hard, twisting against the desk as your body shook and writhed in pleasure.

Professor Laufeyson shouted loudly as your cunt contracted around him. His thick, hot cum spilled into you, filling each crevice of your battered womb. He groaned loudly, thrusting through his orgasm before slowing gradually to a stop. With a contented sigh, he removed himself from you, watching as his seed dripped out of your swollen folds.

“Now, my dear,” he said, swallowing thickly, “I believe you’ll be needing a place to stay after you drop-out?” One of his hands caressed your ass as your mind wandered back to what he had said earlier. Surely that would be much better than facing parents who had told you not to come home.

“Yes,” you said, voice no louder than a whisper, tired from crying out so loudly. You shivered as a drip of the professor’s cum trickled down the inside of your thigh.

Laufeyson grinned. “Then it’s settled. Call me Loki, my dear. Or Daddy, if you wish, though I would refrain from referring to me as such in class.” He paused, chuckling. “Of course, I won’t stop you.”


End file.
